


A Fix to His Crave

by Nefaria_Black



Series: To Live in the Shadows [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Body Image, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Consent Issues, Death Eaters, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Orgasm Denial, Prompt Fic, Pureblood ideology, Rape/Non-con Elements, Relationship Issues, Second Wizarding War, Surrogate lover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 16:31:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14116392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefaria_Black/pseuds/Nefaria_Black
Summary: Rodolphus cannot have what he yearns for, but he finds a fixOne shot, set during OotP





	A Fix to His Crave

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for Dub-Con/Non-Con elements, and psychological abuse  
> Heed the warnings in the tags!

**A Fix to His Crave**

 

_Malfoy Manor, May 1996_

 

 “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Rodolphus sniffed his contempt at the witch’s statement. It didn’t bother him, not remotely enough to answer. He felt the body next to his move, the witch’s head turning to face him.

He did not face her. He was enjoying his much deserved rest. He had trained for the entire day, trying to become again what he once had been. A lethal weapon at the hands of his Master.

His body was sore. He was still convalescing from Azkaban, but he was well enough to duel. He had a month to make himself worthy of the Dark Mark, to train and mend, so that he could be of use to the Dark Lord. In a month, he would be part of an important mission. The details were still obscure to him, but he trusted his Master fully. He would be told what was needed when it was needed, not before.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen anymore, I told you that last time.”

His eyes remained on the canopy above him. He heard her take a deep breath, as if she was going to start some tirade. Not a word came out of her mouth, just air, slightly sobbed.

_Let her regret it, then_ , he selfishly thought. He had had his pleasure, taken from her body, but he had given nothing in return. She had been his reward. He had taken her, face down on the bed, enjoying his recompense while ruminating on what he really missed.

He had walked in her bedroom, not caring enough to knock and wait for permission. It turned out that Rabastan had been right, after all. Another body was capable of erasing Bella off his mind. He could manipulate another’s flesh, touch other expanses of skin, enter another’s womanly folds, grunt into another witch’s ear, nib at different shoulders, find his pleasure in between another’s thighs and lips. He could do all those things and forget about Bellatrix. But the second he was done, the second his mind came down from the high, that very same second, his mind was done pretending, and Bella would re-emerge. Every single time.

So here he was. Naked, on a bed staring at the canopy, his chest still heaving, but already thinking of her.

He could see Alecto’s face out of the corner of his right eye. She lifted her head from the pillow, using her elbows to support her upper body off the mattress. She kept her eyes on him, obviously and hopelessly waiting for an answer. Some sort of reprieve.

None was given.

Her features talked of the frustration at having been left incomplete. Wanting, panting, yearning. She didn’t dare ask for completion. She never did. No, Alecto was not Bella, who would demand for the pleasure to be returned. He had never left her interrupted, she had never allowed it.

Alecto settled in her pillow again, slowly, almost scarily, hedging her fingers towards him, but never reaching his once again muscular arm.

He pulled both his arms up, to rest crossed beneath his head, on the pillow. His mind kept running on the idea of Bella. He stayed there, utterly lost in memories of her, until Alecto shifted again. She had turned her back to him, covering her legs and her chest with the covers, curling up on herself. Suddenly, he resented the witch beside him on the sheets.

He let his eyes drift up and down her curves, observing. Noticing every detail about her and coming to the same conclusion on every point. She was lacking, inferior.

Her blood was soiled and so she was further away from perfection.

Her skin was not alabaster run through by beautiful, delicate, veins of blue. Her skin was pale enough, but uneven, painted with red blotches and freckles. Her skin was not soft as silk. It was tarnished by pox and pimple scars.

She had curves to her body, but not the gentle swells of the body he craved. Her waist not so small, her body stocky, not so toned by battle, untouched by Azkaban. Wherever Bellatrix was dainty and light, this witch was thickset and dull.

Every touch of his hands was sketched on her skin, a red angry blemish for every pull and push at her flesh. Bella’s skin never blotched, never erupted from his touch. She would bruise beautifully under his teeth and lips, covered in small purple delicate blooms the day after, but never would she exhibit these common reddish blots.

Alecto was common, he realized, but she was also all he got. Her lifeless, dull brown-blonde hair, her usual-blue eyes, her bland face, her ordinary body. That was all Rodolphus was given instead of his wife. His very extraordinary, sin-made-flesh wife.

“Why are you always so rough?” She had finally gathered enough of her common meek self to talk to him.

He did not answer. He was above her in everything: rank, value, blood. Everything. And he would not justify himself to someone beneath him.

He was always rough, and fast, and on the verge of careless. He sought her out, always, never the other way around. He walked in her room, never the contrary. He claimed her body, not against her will, but never to her truthful liking. She was a remedy, a fix for his cravings, and he always took her like that. Hastily, with a certain amount of despair to his gestures, with an almost harmful will. His was a thirst that could not be quenched. A craving impossible to satisfy to the fullest.

She knew that, but still she asked why. She dared going further tonight.

“Why do you still think of her? She hardly ever thinks of you-“

“Leave it be, Alecto,” his voice became a growl, “you do not want to thread that path.” His tone was a clear threat, but the witch paid no attention whatsoever, incapable of reading the subtleties of him.

“I’m just saying you could consider other possibilities…” Her voice had become a whisper, lower and lower with every word.

A malignant, mocking, deranged laughter echoed in the room.

“Is that what you think, Alecto? That we could be a possibility? Is that what you dream of at night? Of the two of us together after the war?” He let his vicious mirth resound again.

“I just want you to be happy, even if it is not with me.”

“Who would ever be happy with you? Some dim witted excuse of a wizard like your brother? I don’t think you’d be able to find someone quite like him, mistakes like that don’t happen often.”

“She doesn’t deserve you-”

“Get out,” he spat-growled the order at the canopy above him, “leave me alone, Carrow.” The surname used as a clear statement of rank, establishing the hierarchy that she seemed to have forgotten.

“But this is my room-”

She was not given the chance to finish her sentence. Rodolphus leaped up from the mattress, standing naked, and striding to her side of the bed, a beast on its prey. He grabbed her chin, hurtfully, making her face his eyes, watching hers deflate of any bravery before his anger. His deathly nature shining through his every pore, like a dark beacon was alight inside him.

He is not in his prime anymore, Azkaban took that from him. He had lost something he could not retrieve in there, and he lacked the sheer madness that Bella used to make up for it. He would never be the young, vicious lieutenant again, but he remained lethal all the same.

The look he gave Alecto left no room for doubt. She would either leave the issue alone, or she would suffer for her newfound boldness. He would squash those inferior to him, no matter who, no matter where.

She apologised in the smallest voice she was capable of, and made to move out of the bed, wrapping her body with the bedsheet she clung to her breast. He meant to walk back to his side of the bed then, but he found himself too angered to simply lie back down and rest his not-quite-sated body. His mood was dark, and dark thoughts only made Bellatrix an acuter pain in his mind.

He looked over his shoulder, to the witch walking away from him, towards the clothes scattered on the floor. He had a craving. He had a fix there too.

He took two long strides to her, taking hold of her left arm, his fingers digging into the flesh, making her yelp as she was turned forcefully on herself. He flung her towards the bed once more, and watched as she landed on her belly without any hint of grace. He ripped the sheet from her, leaving red welts on her skin, and pressed his anger-aroused manhood to her backside.

She whimpered when he knifed a hand in between her thighs, applying pressure to her nether lips, still wet and messy from before. She was shaking beneath him, and he liked it. Those inferior should be afraid of their betters. He massaged her, over her folds, never dwelling inside, until she shivered with something else too.

“You can’t even deny me, can you Alecto?”

“N-no, mmphf, no.”

“And why is that?”

“Be-because I don’t, oh,” her voiced hitched then, when he allowed a finger to slide directly over her nub, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Because you know you’re not worthy, but you want to belong so much, to prove yourself so worthy that you’ll lower yourself to this. A worthy witch would fight me; a better witch would claim me as much as I claimed her.”

He shoved her legs apart with his knees, removing his hand and entering her with a grunt, while he pressed her body down with his hands on her waist, pivoting her hips to best serve him. He took his pleasure once more, in quick, pounding motions. He lowered his mouth to her left ear, taking a full hand of hair and using it to turn her head.

“Bellatrix would hex me if I ever left her yearning like I leave you. But you’re worthless. Don’t ever forget your place again, Carrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts and Challenges  
> Creative Collection Challenge: Pairing - Alecto Carrow; Dialogue - I just want you to be happy. Even if it is not with me  
> Caffeine Awareness Challenge: Seville Coffee - Write about relaxing after a hard day  
> 365 Prompts Challenge: 138. First Line – “This wasn't supposed to happen.”


End file.
